On the rafts and forts and bridges Ha! a frantic banquet follow’d; In red torrents stream’d the blood, And the bold carousers struggled,-- Struggled, body press’d to body, And we see on many naked Indian breasts the arabesque Of the Spanish arms imprinted. ’Twas a throttling and a choking And a butchery that slowly, Sadly slowly, roll’d still onward Over rafts and forts and bridges. Whilst the Indians sang and bellow’d Silently the Spaniards struggled, Step by step with toil and labour For their flight a footing gaining. Fighting thus in narrow passes Small to-day the’ advantage lying In old Europe’s strategy, Or her cannons, armour, horses. Many Spaniards in addition With the gold were heavy laden, Lately captured or extorted-- Ah! that yellow load of sin Lamed and hemm’d them in the conflict, And the devilish metal proved Not to the poor spirit only Ruinous, but to the body. And meanwhile the lake around them With canoes and barks was cover’d; Archers in them sat, all shooting At the rafts and forts and bridges. True they hit in the confusion Many of their Indian brethren, But they also hit full many Excellent and brave hidalgos. On the third bridge fell at last Poor young Gaston, who was bearing On that day the flag whereon Was the Holy Virgin’s image. E’en this image’ self was struck By the missiles of the Indians; Six such missiles were left sticking In its very heart,--bright arrows, Like those swords of golden colour Which transfix the sorrowing bosom Of the Mater Dolorosa In Good Friday’s sad procession. Gaston, when he died, made over His proud banner to Gonsalvo, Who soon afterwards was stricken E’en to death, and died. Then Cortez Seized himself the precious banner, He, the leader, and he bore it On his steed till tow’rd the evening, When the fight at length was over. On that day a hundred Spaniards Fell, and sixty in addition; Eighty more alive were taken By the Indians’ cruel hands. Many of them sorely wounded, Who ere long their breath surrender’d And a dozen horses, too, were Partly kill’d and partly captured. Cortez and his army only Just at evening gain’d the shelter Of the shore, a seacoast planted Niggardly with weeping willows. 2. When the battle day is over, Comes the frantic night of triumph So in Mexico a hundred Thousand lamps of joy are flaring; Hundred thousand lamps of joy, with Woodpine torches, pitch-ring fires, Throw a light as clear as daylight Over palaces and temples, And guildhouses,--likewise over Vitzliputzli’s splendid temple, Idol-fortress built of red brick, Strangely like the old Egyptian,